Fear and Courage
by Samuel La Flame
Summary: "Before, I had rarely felt fear; it was something that did not touch me. Never had I really understood the meaning of the word afraid. But now, it seemed as if I was always afraid. My thoughts turned ever to Gondor." Boromir, from his journey to Rivendell, throughout FOTR to his death. The fears of a hero as the Ring invades his mind. Please Read and Review! Book and Movie-verse!


**Disclaimer: I am not J.R.R. Tolkien!**

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**Fear and Courage**

It came to me now, when I was seconds from death, that my life could be divided into two parts: before and after. Before and after I set out on a journey that would end with me here, lying on the ground, dying, accompanied by the man who I now called King.

Before, I had rarely felt fear; it was something that did not touch me. Never had I truly understood the meaning of the word _afraid_. But now, after, it seemed as if I was always afraid. My thoughts turned ever to Gondor.

It all started with the dream. The cursed dream about Isildur's bane. Both Faramir and I received it but I was the one to tell father. When he spoke of leaving to journey into the wild to search for a place that few still believe existed I was afraid. When I saw that he would not let Faramir go with me, that I would have to make this journey on my own, I felt more fear. But I still did not hesitate before accepting to go. My father, my people, my country needed me to go. I would not fail them.

But I was also afraid of leaving Faramir at home with father. It was no secret that my father hated my little brother. So, just before I left, I begged one final favour. I begged that father would let Faramir go into the wilds with his rangers. His rangers were loyal to him, they- unlike father- knew Faramir's worth. Faramir would be safe with them. Father granted me that final favour so I left Gondor with few regrets. As I left, I looked back one final time, wondering if I would ever return. Then I turned my eyes to the road, banishing the fear. A whisper of a prayer crossed my lips, not for myself but for Gondor. While I was gone, I prayed, do not let Gondor fall to her enemies. For that was my fear.

The journey into the wilds was one of the hardest things that I had ever done. Every day, I wondered and doubted. I wondered where exactly I was and how far I had to go. I wondered if I would even survive this and laughed bitterly at the thought of a Captain of Gondor being killed thusly, in wild and alone. I wondered how Faramir fared and how Gondor was holding up against the Shadow. I doubted that I would ever find the valley I sought: Rivendell. I doubted sometimes that it even existed, that it still stood after all these centuries.

In the past, I had faced many perils but never alone as I was now. When I lost my horse near Tharbad I nearly wept for it was then that I was completely alone. I was attacked nearly every three days-at least-by small bands of orcs or wargs. Who could have known that so many foes could slip beyond the protection that was Gondor? I grabbed my sword on those occasions and slayed my foes. Afterwards, I would touch the belt that was a gift from my mother and thank her for her protection before asking her for strength. I needed it then, I needed it badly.

So often I dreamt of giving up and returning to Gondor but I could not. My people died every day fighting the Shadow. I needed to succeed in this and reach Rivendell for them. If I did not then they would have died in vain and their blood would be on my hands. I was son and heir of the Ruling Steward, the people were my responsibility.

If I did not succeed for them then no one would. If I was afraid, so too would they be. If I despaired, they would follow my example. Hence why I was allowed no weakness, nor fear, nor despair. I must find a possibly mythical city and _I must not fail!_ That knowledge gave me the strength to continue on but it did not hide the truth from me: For the first time, I was afraid.

After 110 days, I reached Rivendell, worn, exhausted, injured, half-starved and slightly dehydrated, yet triumphant. I had found the hidden valley. I had reached Rivendell despite all odds to the contrary. Idly, I considered with a pang how much Faramir would have enjoyed this. He had always loved stories of elves. During my stay, there were two that I remember in particular, Lords Elrond and Glorfindel.

Lord Elrond's face was ageless, both young and old at once and he had hair that was dark as shadows and eyes that were a deep gray. His eyes were full of the wisdom of ages, they had seem both great joy and great sadness. They pierced you at once yet, unlike my father's, were full of compassion and not condemnation. But I could imagine them becoming hard and stern easily, ready to pronounce a judgement and stand against an adversary. This, I knew, was someone who was used to the burden of command and who had the presence and air of a king. It was then that I remembered that his brother had been first and greatest king of Númenor, from whom the ancient kings of Gondor were descended. His presence was greater even then my father's.

Lord Glorfindel had hair of gold and he stood tall and strong. From my brother, who loved such tales, I had heard that he once slayed a Balrog. After witnessing him practice with some of the guard I could believe it, there was strength in his hand and he knew the sword better than any I had ever before met. He too, out of all the elves in Rivendell, won my respect.

The only person in Rivendell that I had met previously was Gandalf. My father disliked and feared him, my brother loved and trusted him. For my part, I respected his power. My grandfather had listened to his advice and destroyed the Corsairs of Umbar. I believed that such a man could not wish Gondor ill and therefore could not be as bad as my father feared. However, he had also left Gondor and kept many secrets so I did not trust him as easily as Faramir did. If I received a chance, I would form my own judgements, I decided.

The elves healed my wounds and offered me a change of clothes, plenty of food, and an invitation to the council that had been called. I was worried for that, and slightly angry. They had displayed their power and strength. Gondor needed such strength, Gondor needed help. I knew that I had to convince them to come to Gondor's aid, to help us fight the Shadow. I was angry that they had not helped us before and afraid that they would not come and we would be left to fight alone. My people depended on me, they needed me to secure for us this aid.

At the council, I learned of the Ring, of its entire history and how it affected Gondor. At first, I was angry with it and wished for it to be destroyed. It had betrayed and killed Isildur, a king of Gondor! It had resulted in the death of a great King of my country. It should be destroyed! But first, I must convince the council to advise and assist us.

I was worried, of course. Afraid, you might say. I was amongst the greatest out of every race, the ones about whom tales are told. How was I to convince this meeting of heroes to listen to what I had to say? Yet was it not my right to be here, I also wondered. I was Boromir, son of Denethor, Captain of the White Tower, future Ruling Steward of Gondor! They must listen to me. I would make them. But I felt afraid, what did I know of the ancient tales that all those here seemed well-versed in? I was not Faramir. It would not do to seem ignorant or uneducated! So instead of revealing what I didn't know, I told them what I did know.

I told them of Gondor, of how my people fought each day and died fighting. I told them of all the efforts we spent fighting the Shadow and the Easterlings and the Haradrim so that their lands could remain safe. I told them how dark the times were in Gondor, and of the riddle that had been sent to my brother and I in the form of a dream. At the end of it all, I silently prayed that they would come to the aid of my people.

It was then that I met him, the man that was to become the bane of my existence, the one whose presence would keep me up late at night wondering. The one who I would grow to love yet hate, and who I would trust yet doubt. He was Aragorn, son of Arathorn, descended in a right line from Isildur through his son, Valandil. Rightful King of Gondor and Arnor, the man I therefore owed my allegiance.

At first, I saw hope when I glanced at him. I still wanted then to destroy the Ring. But then, I looked to it, this Ring that had such power. I saw it sitting there, so innocently in the Halflings hand. I began to hear whispers, promises and a beautiful tune. Perhaps the Ring was simply misunderstood. After all, Sauron could corrupt anything. It was then that I began to doubt this strange and grim ranger of the North. It was then that I began to fear the destruction of the Ring.

But how could I save Gondor without destroying the Ring? For Gondor must come first, above everything else. My love and duty to it were above all else and if the Ring must be destroyed to see it safe than the Ring must be destroyed, no matter how beautiful and misunderstood it was. The answer to that question came at once, I could use the Ring. Surely, if the Ring could be used for evil it could also be used for good. Would it not be ironic if the thing Sauron wanted above all was that which lead to his destruction?! It would be perfect! Eagerly, I spoke up.

Yet none of the others on the council understood, I had no allies here, I realised. Scolded, I fell silent. But throughout the rest of the council, I looked from time to time at the Ring. I was afraid of what would happen to my country if we did not have it. I knew we needed it.

When I was chosen for the fellowship I was full of pride. The Valar were on my side, I would represent Gondor in the fellowship of the Ring! I would help bring about Sauron's destruction! I would help save my country. All was well and I was full of confidence. But then I glanced once more to the Ring and doubts began crowding my mind.

What did this ranger know of ruling? What did this ranger know of men? He had been raised among elves, he had been educated by them. How could he know the needs of men? How could he love Gondor the way a man raised there would?

My father loved Gondor, I knew. I loved Gondor. But what about this Aragorn, son of Arathorn? Did he truly deserve to be king? At once, I shut such thoughts from my head, that was treason! I saw then that my eyes had been locked on the Ring as I thought that and I felt a frisson of fear go through me. So that was the danger of the Ring, it ruined your mind.

Still, I thought. My will was strong. I could control it. It must be testing me, I decided, trying to see if I were worthy to wield it. I would be strong, I promised myself. I shut the voice to the furthest corner of my mind. Yet now the thought began to plague me. Was Aragorn truly what was best for Gondor?

We set out from Rivendell, nine companions. I was impressed by Frodo's courage and captivated by all four of the Halflings. All had showed incredible bravery and they were wonderful- so loyal and loving. They were playful and innocent and determined and altogether wonderful creatures. I found myself teaching them how to use a sword.

I liked teaching them, it reminded me of how I had sparred and trained with the guard in Gondor. Yet even with this, as was becoming customary, I felt fear. What if my lessons weren't enough? What if despite these teachings I wasn't good enough and the little, innocent hobbits were killed? What if I couldn't save them (and the Ring) and it was because of me that this quest failed? These fears assaulted me often though I tried to push them from my mind.

When we were caught in the blizzard on Caradhas I felt fear once more. Fear that the Halflings would die from the cold, fear that the Ring would be lost (because these days it was always on my mind), fear that I might die. Most of all, I felt fear from my lack of control. The Ring tried to twist my mind while even the strength of my body was not enough to help them. All of my strength meant nothing, all my struggles meant nothing. I felt powerless. What was I without my strength? It was then that the Ring started to whisper to me, not just about saving Gondor but also about granting me power.

Before the mines of Moria I felt once more the now-familiar feeling of fear. It seemed astounding that before this quest I had rarely felt it. The mines were long and dark and unknown. The mines were a last resort of a person who had no other choice. I supposed that that summed up our situation perfectly.

Throughout the mines the Ring plagued me, invading my mind and making me feel as if I was going crazy. One second I wanted it destroyed, the next I wanted to save it and use it to save Gondor. I fought the influence that it had on me, fought it as hard as I could, but my mind was weakening.

Here was a foe I could not see, here was a foe that half the time I thought was a blessing! I wanted a foe that I knew, an enemy that I could fight. My hand tightened on the hilt of my sword and I rejoiced in the feeling of cold steel wrapped in leather. I wished that I could fight this foe with my sword.

When the orcs pouring in, part of me rejoiced. Finally, a foe I knew how to fight. Finally, something that I could do! My sword was an instrument of death in my hands, flashing and moving in ways long since ingrained into muscle memory. Orcs fell and black blood stained my blade as I fought and my heart pounded. Adrenaline and exhilaration were pumping through my veins as the world receded and I felt the fierce, savage joy of the fight alongside the ancient pleasure that the triumph of besting my foes brought. This was what I knew and this was what I was skilled at. Finally, I had something I could understand and I foe I could see, and fight, and defeat!

Yet then we were running, fleeing for our lives, and I felt the Ring reach out yet again for my mind. I resisted, barely, but each time it took longer. I wondered what would happen when I would no longer be able to resist.

Before the Balrog I felt afraid once more but I did not know of the demons of the ancient world in the same way that some of the others did. I had not been brought up on tales of its danger. All I saw was an enemy. A dangerous one, certainly, but one that I could see and hear and fight. One that did not exist in my own mind.

Together, Aragorn and I sprung forwards, ready to help Gandalf. Aragorn cried Elendil and I cried Gondor, for I would be loyal to her forever. Afterwards, it hit me that Aragorn had used as a battle cry an ancient king of Gondor. It was then that, when I was sane and the Ring was not twisting my mind, I began to believe that Aragorn might not be bad for Gondor. That he may in fact save her as I longed to.

When Gandalf fell I felt fear wash over me. Both fear and despair crashed into me with the power of the ocean. If Gandalf had fallen how could any of us hope to survive? He was our leader, our guide and the most powerful member of the fellowship! Without him, I was afraid. I was afraid for myself, and for the others, and for the fate of our Quest and for Gondor. Never, in any of my worst imaginings did I ever think that Gandalf would fall.

Of course, I did not trust him. I did not fully understand him nor did I enjoy the way that he would take Aragorn aside and they would together share secrets and make all of the important decisions. I did not know where Gondor was in his heart and I knew he did not love my country as I did. But Faramir would be devastated and I had grown fond of the wizard and, most of all, Gandalf's death had weakened Gondor. Here was yet another potential ally who would not be able to come to Gondor's aid.

Aragorn took control of the Fellowship after, and though part of my mind was bitter and angry at that, another was impressed at how natural the position of command seemed to come to him. This was indeed a man born to the position of command. I was afraid of what my father would think of that but it was the truth. My father might not like it, but it was the truth.

When I felt the Elf-woman, Galadriel, come into my mind I felt fear once more. She could invade my thought just like the Ring. What if she could also influence and control me like it? She could see anything, she could come into my most private space: my mind!

Suddenly, I grew angry, what gave her that right? How did we know that she was even on our side? Who examined her mind? I vowed then not to trust her, who knew what plans she had?

When we left Lothlórien I knew that I had to return to Gondor. Nightmares had been plaguing me, brought on no doubt by the Ring. But what I had seen I could not ignore. I saw Osgiliath overrun and Minas Tirith under attack. I saw Faramir burning, and I could not reach him! I needed to return to Gondor, to give them what aid I could offer. The thought came again to me, I should bring them the Ring.

When I regained my mind I regretted that thought. I was afraid of the power the Ring had over me. I was afraid for Gondor and my people but also for the fellowship. I cared about these people now. Respected them, perhaps even loved them a bit though I still doubted Aragorn somewhat.

All along the river the Ring's influence grew in me and I became afraid of myself. What would happen when my mind fled? What would happen if the Ring consumed me? I must leave them, I knew, return to Gondor before my mind was taken by the Ring. Yet also along the river happened another thing. Beneath the kings of old, Aragorn took form, casting aside his concealing disguise and revealing instead what I could only describe as his Light.

No longer could he pass to any of the fellowship as a normal man. In the prow of his boat, sat a king. There sat one who wore his lineage upon his brow and who could unite and lead my people. There sat one who carried elven wisdom in his mind, strength in his body and healing in his hands. There was one who could inspire hope in my weary nation and restore my fair Gondor.

My father would not like it, I knew. My father might even try to fight it. But in the couple, precious seconds that the Ring attacked Aragorn's mind and not mine, I knew that as long as my mind was free, I would follow him. I would follow this man, and serve him gladly, and call him King. If necessary, I would die for him as he was an image of the kings in their days of glory. I was not afraid to die serving him. Yet the Ring returned to me and, once more, I was afraid.

My fears took form at Amon Hen. To my eternal shame, the Ring took me and I tried to wrest it from Frodo who fled in fear. Fear from me, I realised to my shame. Frodo was afraid of me, the same one who had sworn to protect and defend him. The one who honestly cared for him. I was filled with shame and even more fear. I doubt that I have ever been so afraid as I was in that moment. I was afraid for myself.

Aragorn sent me after Merry and Pippin and so I went, my mind now free, where my king commanded me. I would guard them as best as I could, I promised, and then find some way to make it up to Frodo.

When I saw the host of orcs and Uruk-hai attacking the poor hobbits I was filled with fear for them. Strangely, I seemed to have run out of fear for myself. I charged into the battle, and for some reason, I felt happy. Finally, I could do my duty. I could do as I swore. This enemy was neither a Balrog nor the infernal Ring. This enemy I could strike with my sword and watch fall. This enemy I could fight.

I struck down orcs quickly, ignoring their numbers, and I was doing well. Unbelievable though it seemed, I was winning and the orcs could not stand against me. It was then that my sword broke against the armour of the Uruk-hai. It was not of elvish or dwarvish make, it was not an ancient blade and it was not infused with magic. It was merely my sword, made by the best smiths Minas Tirith had to offer. It could not hold against the Uruk-hai.

I felt fear, I was alone, against impossible odds, and now without my sword- that same sword that had borne me faithfully through so many battles. I sounded the Horn, calling for help. When the Horn of Gondor sounds it means that Gondor calls for aid. The Son of Gondor now blew the Horn.

When the arrows struck me I felt barely any pain as I continued to slay the orcs. This was what I deserved, I thought. This was the price of my betrayal. If I could save the halflings, perhaps my honour would be salvaged and I would not be condemned to die the death of a traitor. But my best efforts were in vain and the orcs took the hobbits. I was left alone to die, arrows sticking out of me.

As I lay upon the ground I was afraid once more. I was afraid for the hobbits in the hands of the orcs. I was afraid for Frodo and the dark path he had to walk. I was afraid for my remaining companions who deserved so much. I sensed darkness ahead of them. I was afraid for Faramir and how father would be to him when he learned of my death. But most of all, I was afraid for Gondor, my country which I had now failed. I was afraid for what would happen to Gondor when the legions of Sauron marched upon it.

Aragorn came then, running to my aid. I smiled as my eyes started to close, Aragorn had answered the call of the horn. He looked bloody and fierce and somehow still like a king. He was like the warrior-kings of old. When he knelt down beside me I spoke desperately, knowing I did not have long.

"They took the little ones", I told Aragorn desperately.

"Shh", he replied, trying to be soothing. "Stay still", he said as if I still had any hope of living. I saw the sorrow and disbelief in his eyes as he took in the arrows protruding from my chest. I felt touched by that, I hadn't known that he had cared that much. But I needed to keep speaking, I had so little time!

"Frodo", I asked, speaking of the first of my fears. "Where's Frodo?" If the orcs had him as well then we were all doomed.

"I let Frodo go", replied Aragorn quietly, looking at my eyes as if to see if I disagreed. But now that the Ring had vanished from my mind I knew that he had done right. I also looked somewhat in awe at this man. His will had to be tempered in steel if he had managed to resist the Ring's call. He was truly a man unlike any other. He was definitely worthy of his bloodline. He was worthy of being king. Gondor would be honoured to have such a king. Both honoured and blessed.

"Then you have done what I could not", I said, voice trembling. "I have tried to take the Ring from Frodo", I confessed, wanting to remove the burden from my shoulders before I died. Wanting to admit my faults to this king and see his reaction. To see if he forgave me. To see if I could be forgiven.

"I am sorry", I burst out. "I have paid", I added, and his gaze flickered to the arrows buried in me. His eyes saddened again. "It is beyond our reach now", he said quietly.

"Forgive me", I said, hoping to convey everything, trying to explain. "I did not see". I hadn't seen the true power of the Ring. I could not see it while it twisted my mind. "I have threatened you all", I admitted, fear coursing through me once more. I was a traitor, I thought, and I might have doomed my people.

"No Boromir", said Aragorn comfortingly. The man was impossible. I did not see how he couldn't blame me. Yet I saw the truth in his eyes. These were no false words, uttered merely to comfort the dying. He truly believed that I was no traitor! This was a man far nobler than any other on this earth. It had been a privilege to know him, however short our time together was.

"You fought bravely", he said encouragingly. "You have kept your honour", he added with the barest of smiles. I knew then that he understood me. He understood how important duty and honour were to me. He understood my loyalty to Gondor. He gave me something that, as king, he could take away. I would have even accepted it had he taken it from me. I did not think that I deserved it. But he gave me my honour. But my honour did not matter if my country fell...

"It is over", I said despairingly, knowing all too well how strong were the enemies that threatened Gondor. If these Uruk-hai were to be added to the list of enemies than how could we win? "The world of men will fall and all will come to darkness", I said, knowing how true that could be, remembering the images I had seen in my dreams. Osgiliath overrun, Faramir burning, Minas Tirith under attack and the Pelennor fields a sea of blood… Without Gondor, the other lands would fall. If my visions proved correct than the world of men would end.

"You must try", I said suddenly, desperately. He was the only hope for my people, for Gondor, and if anyone could save them he could. I saw that now.

"You must save them! Go to Minas Tirith and save my people! I have failed", I said, slightly bitterly.

"No, you have conquered", he told me, taking my hand and kissing my brow. "Few have claimed such a victory", he said, gesturing to the orcs that lay dead around me. I was glad that he was pleased with me and somewhat proud of what I had accomplished. If he believed that I had done well that was enough. He was my King, after all.

But I was still afraid, what about Gondor? What about my people?

As if sensing my fear, he spoke. "I do not know what strength is in my blood," he said. I did. The strength most men could only imagine. The strength that no man in Gondor currently had. The strength of a king. But I had no time to say that.

"But I swear to you that Minas Tirith will not fall," he added. I looked into his eyes and saw their strength, their wisdom, their compassion. I saw his honesty and knew that this was more than a promise made merely to appease me.

This man, this _king _had given me his word that my city would be safe. Knowing him, I knew that he would keep it or die trying.

"I will not let our people fail," he added. I smiled then, seeing that I was right. He was what Gondor needed.

"Our people," I said quietly, tasting the words. "Our people," I added again, wanting to feel the hope that that simply phrase brought. "Our people," I repeated, needing to say it. He nodded, a small smile flickering for a second across his face.

I reached for my sword, I would pledge myself to him then. I would take a vow to the king, even if I only lived for seconds after.

My sword was broken but he passed it to me and my fingers closed around the hilt, and I brought it to my chest, every movement sending waves of agony through my body. The end was close.

"I would have followed you, my brother," I swore. "My captain," I added. "My king," I said finally, smiling a bit at that last word. For he was a king that anyone could be proud of and he was my king. He would save Gondor, of that I was sure.

I felt darkness approaching me then, I felt the end coming. So I stared into his eyes, the eyes of my king. I stared into his eyes and remembered his promise to save Gondor and to not let Minas Tirith fall. I remembered the determination and honesty in his gaze. And for the first time since this had started, for the first time since before, I was not afraid.

The End

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**This is an edited (and, hopefully, improved!) version of the first Lord of the Rings story that I wrote. I would like to thank _EverleighBain_, _sassyfriend_, _The Hare and the Otter,_ and_ThorinKiliandFili4ever_, for having reviewed that version of this story. Your feedback was much appreciated! Please review this story and tell me what you liked, what you disliked, how I can improve and whether you thought Boromir was in character. Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed, Samuel La Flame**


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